


price is right

by envysparkler



Category: Batman - All Media Types
Genre: Accidental Baby Acquisition, Dissociation, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Jason Todd Needs A Hug, Panic Attacks, Underage Prostitution, Whump
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-14
Updated: 2021-03-14
Packaged: 2021-03-22 09:14:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,881
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30036411
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/envysparkler/pseuds/envysparkler
Summary: “Hey, Mister, looking for a good time?”The car is fancier than any he’s seen in Crime Alley.  And when he looks up at the cowled shadow, Jason realizes why.
Relationships: Jason Todd & Bruce Wayne
Comments: 86
Kudos: 690





	price is right

**Author's Note:**

  * For [iselsis](https://archiveofourown.org/users/iselsis/gifts).



> Happy birthday, Ise! I hope you have a wonderful day, and a wonderful year!
> 
> (I learnt how to use em-dashes for you.)

The car was the fanciest he’d ever seen in Crime Alley. Dark and gleaming and smooth and sleek—he bet it would go _really_ fast, and it was probably bulletproof too, Jason knocked on the blacked-out windows and got only a faint thud.

And the _tires_. Jason could make so much money off the rugged, heavy-duty tires—unfortunately, there was no place to stick a tire iron in the get-up he was wearing, but his hideout was only a block away, if he ran, he could maybe make it back before the owner—

A rippling noise, like someone shaking out a cloth. Jason froze. Oops.

He twisted around, leaning against the car door, forcing a smile, head lowered, arms crossed low, hoping that the stranger hadn’t been watching him paw at his car. “Hey, Mister,” Jason chirped, “Looking for a good time?”

He glanced up at the potential client. And up. And _up_ , until his gaze caught the outline of the dark cowl.

Jason swallowed. All of a sudden, the car was beginning to make perfect sense.

Batman stared at him, gaze inscrutable behind the cowl. Jason stuck his hip out further and bit his lip—he hadn’t heard of anyone getting Batman as a client, but right now, it was a blowjob or a beating, and Jason knew which one he’d prefer.

Jason suppressed the shiver as the intense gaze crawled over him, heavier than a typical leer, fixing on the dark tank top and tight, ripped jeans. Batman looked much more ominous up close, and Jason eased onto the balls of his feet as Batman shifted back.

This was a bad idea. If no one gossiped about Batman as a client, that meant that they’d been _silenced_ , maybe permanently. Jason had to make a run for it, and he slowly straightened as Batman kept staring at him. If he made it to the next alley—

“Get in the car,” came the low, menacing growl. Jason wavered—on one hand, they were back to a familiar script. On the other hand, Batman was terrifying and _huge_ , and a knot of dread sunk into his stomach.

Batman didn’t wait for him to make up his mind—the door behind him shifted, and Jason yelped as he stumbled away, watching wide-eyed as the door slid up to reveal the darkened interior of the Batmobile.

Jason snuck another look at the stone-faced man looming above him, and decided not to test his luck. Pissing him off before they even started was a bad idea.

Jason clambered inside, wincing the door clicked shut behind him. He wavered—sit on the seat? Curl up in the legroom space? That consideration was usually for people that didn’t want anyone peering through the windows, though, and Batman’s windows were completely dark from the outside.

The drivers’ side door opened, and Batman slid inside. “Seatbelt,” he growled, before Jason could panic.

Okay. Clear order. Jason could do this. He gingerly sat down on the passenger seat and clicked the seat buckle closed. The car started with barely a sound.

Jason had hoping to get it over with right here, but clearly Batman had other ideas. He hoped the rumors of Batman living in the sewers were fake. “Where are we going?” Jason dared to ask.

“The police station.”

No.

_No_.

Jason didn’t realize he was tugging on the door handle until Batman growled again. It was locked, because of _course_ it was, but Jason scrabbled furiously at it—he wasn’t going to the police, no, he’d rather throw himself from the car than go to the station—

“ _Stop_ ,” Batman snapped, grabbing his shoulder and pulling him away from the door, “The door will not open. Calm down.”

_Calm down_? Jason couldn’t even _breathe_ properly, how was he supposed to calm down?

He abandoned the unyielding door and twisted in his seat, turning to the only thing that _might_ bend, as discouraging as that countenance was. “P—please,” Jason stuttered, his eyes prickling, “Please, don’t, not the police—”

“I’m not letting you go back to the streets.”

“ _Please_ ,” Jason begged—he clicked off his seatbelt and scrambled to get on his knees, reaching out, “Please, I’ll do anything you want, I swear—I’ll make it good, I _will_ , just don’t hand me over to them—” he swallowed, but Batman caught his hands before he could get close, firmly pushing him back into his own seat.

_No_.

“Please,” he sobbed, tears spilling over, trying to fight the grip, “Please, I’ll—I’ll do whatever you _w—want_ , just don’t—not the police— _please_ —”

“Calm down,” Batman repeated, “The police will help you.”

Help? _Help_? If that was Batman’s definition of _help_ , Jason didn’t want to see what _hurt_ was.

“I’m s— _sorry_ for t—touching your c—car,” his voice cracked on every hitched breath, “I—I’ll clean it, _p—promise_ , just don’t— _don’t_ —”

“What is your name?”

“Jason,” he replied immediately—anything Batman wanted, _anything_ to avoid going back to the place—it had been bad enough when he’d been brought in as a pickpocket, but—but as a _whore_ —

“Jason, calm down,” Batman said, his voice dropping out of the growl, “You shouldn’t be on the streets. The police will help you get somewhere safe.”

Jason stared at him, incredulous. The gentle tone and soothing words might’ve worked on him _before_ , but now the very idea was ridiculous.

“Safe?” Jason repeated disbelievingly, “ _Safe_?” A dim part of his mind pointed out that he was yelling at Batman, but Jason didn’t care, he’d tried, he’d _begged_ , and Batman still refused. He yanked his legs up and buried his face into his knees, curling up as small as possible in the furthest corner of the seat.

“Jason,” Batman started slowly.

“Don’t,” Jason snapped, because he didn’t want to hear it. He just wanted to get this over with. Over with so he could—oh _god_ , it was going to hurt, and Jason shuddered as fresh tears spilled over.

“Jason, please look at me.”

Jason tightened his grip around his knees.

A hand fell on his shoulder. “Jason,” Batman said again, and Jason shivered before raising his head. He was locked in a car with the man, and Jason certainly couldn’t fight him off.

“What,” Jason said hollowly, “You want to get your turn before they do?”

The hand on his shoulder disappeared with alacrity. Batman stared at him. Jason stared back, ignoring the wetness on his cheeks.

Deep breaths, for the pain.

Ignore the laughter, the jeers, the mocking taunts.

Do as you’re told, and you can leave quicker. Before they lock you into a cell.

He’d have to beg numbing cream off of one of the other girls again. Or maybe try to wheedle something from Doc Thompkins, and flee before she called anyone—stupid ‘mandatory reporter’ bullshit, if there was just a doctor they could _trust_ —

“Before who, Jason?” Batman asked, voice still gentle.

“The cops.”

Something spasmed over the visible portions of Batman’s face—Jason couldn’t quite make it out, but he _did_ register the jaw tightening and the barely audible growl.

His heart started racing again. An angry Batman was not a good sign. What did Jason _do_? Was he supposed to just sit there silently while Batman took him to the cops? Was he supposed to pretend to like it? Batman worked _with_ the cops—

“The cops touched you?” Batman growled.

“ _Touch_?” Jason wheezed, slightly hysterical, and watched in terrified fascination as Batman’s expression clouded over to fury.

Batman twisted away from him and jabbed a button on the car. The car—it had been moving on autopilot this whole time—suddenly sped up as Batman wrenched the steering wheel, the plastic creaking under his grip.

“I won’t take you to the police station,” Batman ground out through a clenched jaw.

Jason warily uncurled and peeked out the window—the car was definitely moving in the wrong direction for the police station. “O—okay,” Jason said softly, and then, “Thank you.” He didn’t know what caused Batman to change his mind, but he was _extremely_ grateful that he did.

Maybe Batman just wanted him all to himself? Jason knew that some people got possessive like that. And they were heading away from Crime Alley.

“Where are we going?” Jason dared to venture out.

Batman was silent for a stretching moment, before—“My home.”

Jason let out a shaky exhale. Okay. Back on familiar ground. But Batman was—Jason flicked his eyes at the broad man— _Batman_ , and Jason wanted to know what to expect. If the man just wanted a blowjob, he would’ve taken Jason back, right?

He _knew_ he shouldn’t push it—Batman might make good on his threat to hand him over to the cops—but Jason nibbled on his lip and screwed up his courage. “It’s five hundred for the night,” he said, trying to sound more confident than he was.

It was _not_ five hundred for the night, any other client would’ve slapped him for that price, but Batman was _Batman_ , and Jason felt that was a fair deal. Maybe he’d even get to buy some medicine of his own.

Batman didn’t even try to haggle. He reached into one of his pockets and handed Jason five crisp hundred dollar bills.

Jason stared at the bills in his hand, and back at Batman. And down at the bills again. Five _hundred_ dollars. He’d never held this much money in his hand before. Jason quickly stuffed it in his pocket before Batman could object or take it away—sure, he could just hold Jason down and grab it, but if he was going to do that, there was no need to give him the money in the first place.

It could be some sick game—giving him hope before tearing it away—but Jason was giddy over having _five hundred dollars_.

Did Batman not know what the regular prices were? Maybe _that_ was why no one talked about Batman as a client—he tossed a bunch of money at them and they had the sense to keep their mouths shut and not lose a revenue stream.

Five. _Hundred_. Dollars. Jason really hoped that Batman wasn’t into any weird stuff, because he didn’t want to sour this opportunity.

They drove out of Gotham, onto the mainland, and Jason stiffened when the car sped into what appeared to be a tunnel. _At least it’s not the sewer_ , a part of his mind pointed out, and Jason had to agree.

He should’ve figured that _Bat_ man would live in a cave.

Jason’s imaginings of dark shadows and grim stone were dashed when Batman stopped the car and motioned for him to get out. The cave was brightly lit, and had computers and—and a _dinosaur_ , and a giant penny, and a gym, and a gymnastics set-up, and a _pool_ and—Jason’s head swung in all directions as he tried to take it in.

“This is so cool,” he whispered as he followed behind Batman, almost tripping several times as he tried to walk backwards.

“I can give you a tour later, if you’d like,” Batman said, no longer growling, and Jason grinned. That would be _great_.

Batman ushered him inside an elevator built into the stone—an _elevator_ , jeez, this place was just in a cave for the aesthetic, wasn’t it?—and said, “Alfred will help you get settled in.”

Who? Settled _where_? What was he _talking_ about? The elevator doors closed before Jason could voice any of his questions, and he blinked. “Wait,” he said to empty air, “You’re not coming?”

Who was Alfred? Jason swallowed as he shifted from foot to foot—maybe that was why he’d gotten the extra money. He had multiple clients to please.

Well, two wasn’t _that_ much worse than one. The elevator dinged, and Jason steeled himself, taking a deep breath as the doors opened. He emerged in a…office, stepping past unusually thick walls and twisting to see the elevator doors close, following by a bookshelf sliding into place in front of it.

_Cool_.

When he turned back around, there was an old guy dressed in a suit frowning at him. Jason almost jumped out of his skin.

“Mister Jason, correct?” the old guy said in a British accent, “I am Alfred Pennyworth, the butler here.” He paused, giving Jason enough time to gape. A butler? Batman had a _butler_? “How would you feel about a shower and dinner?” Alfred asked.

A _shower_? Dinner? Batman had said _‘get settled in’_ and Jason assumed he’d be shown to the bedroom.

Jason stared down at himself. At the ragged shirt and ripped jeans that were pretty far from clean. The shower made sense. And Jason wasn’t passing up a free meal.

“Sure,” he said, and Alfred led him out of the office.

They were no longer underground—Jason could see the night sky out of the windows, and Alfred led him up a flight of stairs and into an empty room with a huge bed. “Bathroom is here,” Alfred opened the ensuite door, “And I took the liberty of compiling a selection of fresh clothing.” He motioned to the folded clothes on the dresser. “I’ll bring up a tray for dinner while you’re showering. Take your time. And do let me know if you need anything.”

“T—thanks,” Jason stuttered, and watched as the guy left. An actual shower. _New clothes_. Sure, Batman could just want him dressed in a special costume or something—things about Robin were finally starting to make sense—but Jason shook out the clothes to reveal a T-shirt and sweatpants. Odd.

Fighting the curl of unease, Jason went inside the bathroom, double-checked that the door locked, and turned on the shower.

* * *

The shower had been _amazing_. Jason had been in there for half an hour, and the water had never gotten cold, and no one had come to yell at him. The soap smelled like cucumber and the shampoo like flowers. The clothes were worn and soft and smelled like lavender. Dinner _had_ been waiting on a tray on the bedside table when he came out—grilled cheese and a bowl of tomato soup—and Jason had waited a nervous minute, poking his head out into the empty hallway, but no one showed up.

The sandwich and soup were _delicious_. Jason felt full for the first time in weeks, and it was with a faint, fleeting sense of sadness that he clambered up onto the bed. He felt nice and warm and—and _content_ , and he didn’t want this feeling to be ruined, but he knew he had to pay back what was owed.

Five hundred dollars for the night. With _Batman_. Jason couldn’t control the shiver—the man was huge, and Jason didn’t have much hope that he wasn’t proportionate. But maybe— _maybe_ —with the shower and the food and all of it, Batman wouldn’t—maybe he’d be gentle. Maybe this wouldn’t hurt.

He hadn’t taken Jason to the police station when he’d begged him not to, after all. Maybe there was a hope that this would be a _good_ night.

Jason sat on the bed, leaning against the headboard, and waited. And waited. He crossed his legs. He uncrossed them. He wondered if he should take off his clothes—no, Alfred had given them to him. Waited some more. Shifted to a kneeling position until his knees began to ache, and then flopped back on the bed.

At this rate, he’d fall asleep before Batman got here.

The man had paid him for the _night_ —Jason would be out of here as soon as dawn broke, but a sick, churning pit opened in his stomach at the thought of saying ‘no’ to Batman. Jason knew how hard those fists could hit. If Batman wanted to break him, it would be all too easy.

Jason scooted back up and decided to check the hallway again. Still nothing.

Was—was Batman planning to come here at _all_?

Jason climbed back onto the bed.

Did it matter? He’d already gotten paid, so even if Batman didn’t come in the whole night, he could do anything about it. Jason would just—

Wait a minute.

He’d _already gotten paid_.

Jason swallowed, and crept to his—neatly folded—tank top and jeans to retrieve the money. Five notes. Still all here. He darted to check the hallway again, and was met with empty darkness.

The window was two stories off the ground. Grass outside. No sign of a dog. The window wasn’t locked.

Batman couldn’t hunt down one street kid in an entire city, right?

Jason should stay. Let Batman get whatever he wanted. Maybe he’d be lucky enough to get this kind of treatment, this kind of _money_ , again. He shouldn’t piss off the closest thing to a boogeyman that Gotham had.

But Jason was clean. Full. Sleepy. For the first time in a long time, he felt _satisfied_ , and he didn’t want to ruin that. He didn’t want to have sex. Not now. _Not ever_ , his mind hissed.

Jason took a deep breath. Held it, fingers tightening on the window sill. And exhaled.

On his next breath, he pushed the window up.

No alarm. No knocking at his door. No Batman looming out of the shadows because Jason had failed some test. Jason grabbed his old clothes, double checked to make sure he had the money, and climbed up onto the windowsill.

He jumped, rolling on impact and letting the grass absorb his momentum. One ankle twinged, but he could walk it off. He brushed off the grass, and looked around.

To his left, the front of the…really big house. There was a road, but it was flat ground with only a few trees. He wouldn’t be able to hide. To his right, the lawn stretched out till it reached the woods, trees growing close and thick.

The road would take him back to Gotham. If he ran fast enough—

A light flickered on in the house. And then another. That—that couldn’t be a coincidence. Jason backed away, his heart racing, mouth dry. He—there was no good reason for him to be out on the grounds. They would know that he’d tried to run. And the _last_ time Jason saw a prostitute try to stiff their client—

Jason sprinted for the woods.

* * *

He couldn’t keep _running_ , he didn’t even know where he was going. There wasn’t enough moonlight to see by, and Jason was forced to a halt, panting, the third time he tripped over a concealed root. He could be running in circles for all he knew.

He needed to hide.

He needed to _get away_.

He—that was a voice in the distance, calling his name. They knew which direction he’d run. They—Jason had no idea which way Gotham was, no idea how to get out of these woods, not the faintest fucking clue _where he was_ —

“Jason!” That wasn’t Alfred. It wasn’t Batman’s growl either. There were _more_ people searching for him. “Jason, can you hear me?”

Jason muffled his ragged breaths with his fist, and ignored the dull throbbing of the splinters in his palm. He’d tried to climb a tree, but none of them had low-lying branches, and he’d only ended up scraping his hands.

“Jason? Are you there?”

Jason pressed himself flat against the tree and shuddered. He—he needed to run. He needed to—his legs weren’t moving, _why weren’t his legs moving_.

The footsteps drew closer, the beam of a flashlight zigzagging around them. He was shaking, and the only thing keeping him upright was the tree at his back.

He—he couldn’t believe he’d been _stupid_ enough—why did he have to _push_ it, why couldn’t he just have kept his mouth shut and waited—he knew what happened when a prostitute didn’t pay what was owed—he _knew_ —

“Jason?” the flashlight flickered over his face, and Jason squinted against it. The flashlight dropped to point at the ground, and Jason could make out a broad figure, almost as big as Batman, dark-haired and dressed in a robe over pajamas. “There are you are,” the stranger said, “I was worried.”

Worried that Jason would get away.

“Come on,” the stranger extended a hand, “Let’s get back to the house.”

Jason stared at the hand. “W—who are you?” Jason forced out, wishing his legs would stop trembling.

The stranger looked slightly taken aback. “Bruce,” he said, “I’m Bruce. Shall we go back to the house, Jason?”

Like it was a _choice_. Jason reached out and took Bruce’s hand, suppressing the shiver as the strong grip closed over his own. Christ, this had been the worst idea of his very short life. Running away from _Batman_. He was so stupid.

Bruce led him back to the house in silence—he kept glancing at Jason like he was going to say something, but just ended up turning away again. Alfred was waiting when they reached the back gardens, and Jason fought the urge to dig his heels in when they stopped. Batman was nowhere in sight.

“Master Bruce,” Alfred said— _Master_ Bruce?—“I see you’ve found Mister Jason.”

Was Bruce Batman’s boyfriend? His husband? Weird roommates? The butler had called him _Master_ , so that meant he had some power, right? And he—he hadn’t hurt Jason, hadn’t punished him yet, had only held his hand, hadn’t even _yelled_ —

“Please,” Jason said, the word bursting out before he made the conscious intention to voice it, “Please don’t call Batman.”

Bruce blinked at him, looking confused. “ _Please_ ,” Jason repeated, his fingers trembling again, “I—I’m sorry—I didn’t—I wasn’t—I’m _sorry_ for running, just please, _please_ don’t call Batman.”

Bruce was frowning now. “Jason, we were just worried about you,” he said slowly, “The woods are dangerous in the dark.”

Jason had grown up in Crime Alley, he knew what danger was.

“I’m sorry,” Jason said again, a lump rising in his throat because Bruce _wasn’t agreeing_ —“I—I won’t—I won’t do it again, I _swear_ —I’ll do whatever you want, I promise, I don’t need to be punished—”

“Jason,” Bruce said, his voice sharper, “No one’s punishing you.”

If they weren’t going to punish him, that meant—

Jason dropped to his knees. “Please don’t kill me,” he said, voice high and tremulous.

Bruce’s whole face sort of _spasmed_.

“Jason,” he said, crouching, “No one is going to kill you. No one is going to hurt you. No one—”

“ _Please_ ,” Jason begged, his eyes prickling, because he was sick and tired of the _lies_. “Please, I promise, I won’t do it again—”

“Jason, please listen, we’re not going to—”

“Don’t call Batman, _please_ , I’ll do anything—”

“ _No one is going to hurt you_ —”

“I’m _s—sorry_ ,” Jason gasped as his breath hitched, “I s—swear, I won’t do it again—p—please—d—don’t—”

“No one is mad at you, Jason, please—”

_Lie_ , his mind screamed, throwing up images of faces half-caved-in and shattered ankles and loud grunts and laughter, so much laughter, and screams dying to broken sobs and vacant eyes as blood drip—drip—dripped to the grimy ground. Of several sets of horrified eyes watching, because it wasn’t just a punishment, it was an _example_.

And those had been normal men. None had towered at Batman’s height, or hit with his ferocity, or even stalked with his fury.

“P— _please_ —” he was shaking, knees pressed painfully against cold stone—“I w—won’t—I—I _won’t_ —not again—I swear—won’t— _promise_ —”

“Jason, no one is going to punish you for going into the woods,” Bruce said firmly. Jason stared blankly at him. He—he hadn’t even _twitched_ —the liars were always the worst, the ones who smiled and pretended they were gentle, you couldn’t even see the punishment coming—

Jason could hear his bones crack. Could feel the burning ache instead of him, too-cold and too-hot all at once. Could imagine the jeers and laughs.

Maybe Batman would drop him off at the police station when he was done taking what he was owed. Maybe he’d break both Jason’s ankles. Either way, Jason wasn’t going to be able to walk for a long, long time.

“Jason?” He couldn’t feel the cold stone under his knees anymore. “Jason?” Or the wind biting into his bare arms. “Jason, can you hear me?” The voice was distant, yet not. There was a large man looming over him, and yet Jason didn’t feel scared.

He didn’t feel anything at all.

“ _Jason_ ,” the man said, forehead furrowing. He looked sad. Jason wanted to tell him to not-feel too, then he wouldn’t be sad, but he couldn’t feel his mouth. “I’m sorry,” the man said, “You’re not being punished, Jason. No one is going to hurt you. No one is going to touch you without your permission, and definitely not sexually.” The man paused. Those were a lot of words. Jason liked words. He liked reading.

“You like to read?” the man asked. How did he know that? He was a mind-reader. Someone should tell Batman. Someone that wasn’t Jason, because Batman was _mad_ at him.

The man’s face twisted into something sad again. “Can you come back, Jason?” he asked softly.

But Jason hadn’t _gone_ anywhere. That was bad. That was very, _very_ bad. He saw what happened to people that ran. He was very sorry. He wasn’t going to run again. He was going to wait here, and not run, and take his punishment.

The man sighed. Jason waited, still and silent. He hoped he got to keep his five hundred dollars. He needed it. He’d need a _lot_ of numbing cream.

“Jason,” the man said, “It’s very cold out. We need to go inside.” Jason blinked at him. He didn’t know what the man was talking about. He didn’t feel cold. “Can you stand?”

Jason certainly knew _how_. But he couldn’t feel his legs right now.

“Okay, Jason, I’m going to pick you up to take you inside. That’s all I’m going to do. If you want me to stop, tell me ‘stop’.”

Like that had ever worked for a punishment in his life. Stop just meant _double_ the punishment for talking back.

The man reached out, and Jason cut himself off from the last part of him that wanted to flinch and curl up and let the sobs tear through him and _cry_. A warm arm curled below his shoulders, and another nudged below his knees.

The man picked Jason up like he was a feather. He was so _strong_. Strong enough to snap Jason in two without a second thought. Strong enough to be _Batman_.

Jason giggled at the thought. The man looked down at him, worried blue eyes pinching together, and gave him a strained smile as they headed for the light.

There was the low murmur of a conversation that Jason didn’t pay attention to, and _more_ light, and Jason briefly closed his eyes because the light was too bright and it was drawing him back and Jason didn’t want to go back, he didn’t want to feel, not until it was over.

The light dimmed though, and Jason opened his eyes when he felt something soft underneath him. He felt like he was melting. Like he was being swallowed by a cloud.

Jason blinked as the man came into view again. He had a blanket and a book in his hand—the blanket he draped over Jason, tucking it around him like a nice, warm cocoon—the blanket was _heavy_ , heavier than Jason thought it would be, patterned with blue elephants, matching the old, worn stuffed elephant that the man plopped on top of the blanket, right above Jason’s ribs.

Jason stared at the elephant. “Her name is Zitka,” the man explained, before settling into a chair next to Jason. Jason, who was on a…couch? He flicked his gaze away from the man and back to Zitka, where it was safe.

The man—Bruce, this was Bruce, dark hair, solid jaw, he’d introduced himself in the woods—cleared his throat and began talking. Someone named Matthias? A _mouse_? Jason didn’t understand—

Oh.

_Oh_.

It was a story.

Bruce was reading him a _story_.

Jason turned his head to look at the man, watching him move a finger down the page as he read about a young mouse in an abbey, his voice rich and full and changing from a lilt to a hoarser tone as he did the voices.

A _familiar_ hoarse tone.

“Are you Batman?” Jason whispered, and Bruce stilled, blinking at him.

“Yes,” the man said quietly, after a long pause. Jason nestled further into the couch and the blanket, watching as Bruce turned back to the book. He kept reading, and Jason listened, and let the story wash over him.

His stomach was full, and he’d gotten a shower, and the world was slowly bleeding back in, but that was okay. He wasn’t getting punished, and there was a _story_ , and Jason could see shelves and shelves and _shelves_ of books behind Bruce-Batman.

It didn’t matter that Jason couldn’t run because he would happily stay here forever.

**Author's Note:**

> Jason does not let go of Zitka. Bruce pushes police reform to the top of both his and Batman’s lists, and calls Nightwing back to Gotham to assist.
> 
> It’s Nightwing who finds the second kid a week later when they’re out on patrol, and no child should look so relieved when they get a perfunctory hug. Or call him by his real name as they attempt to stumble away. This causes a minor setback, as Jason snatches the wide-eyed child from Dick’s clutches while trying not to cry and insisting that he’s enough for the both of them, he swears, they don’t need to bring in a new kid.
> 
> By the time Bruce and Dick manage to convince him that no one is touching anyone—while wresting custody from the Drakes in the process—Jason and Tim are inseparable, Dick has two adorable baby brothers, and Bruce has broken several bones and torn apart multiple careers in the name of justice.


End file.
